ATo-  108, 
THE 


DAIRYMAN'S.  DAUGHTER 


£K     AUTHENTIC      NARRATIVE — ^ER!DGFT>. 


BY   IE  \   IEGH    riCH>  ONP. 


1831. 


OUR    CISTERN  ALMOST   FULL. 

There  is  In  our  house  a  central  cistern,  supplied  frcm  3 
spring  yonder.  From  that  oistern  go  many -pipes,  leading  to 
f.W  parts  of  the  hou-^e,  carrying  water  to  supply  all  the  family 
wants.  If  it  be  nearly  full,  and  yet  not  filled  to  the  top  so  as- 
t<>  rover  the  jnouth  of  the  pipes,  the  pipes  wili  remain  dry,  and 
none  of  the  inmates  will  gel  any  water.  The  cistern  is  almost 
fall  —  a  little  more  would  make  it  overflow—  but  for  all  practi- 
cal purposes  almost  full  is  as  bad  as  having  it  empty.  Almost 
full,  yet  the  family  get  none  of  it.  Tt  is  not  fuil  enough  to 
flow  into  the  brarching  pipes  and  gurgle  alonir  to  the  most 
di-unt  extremities,  ready  at  a  tooth  to  poifr  forth  its  liquid 
tre.^uros. 

In  this  image  we  see  why  many  a  Christian  is  useless  in  the 
wo. Id.  lie  is  almost  full,  but  not  overflowing,  lie  is  con- 
mred  about  the -groat  things  of  etermty  ;  but  he  is  not  so 
ro:<  pletr'y  fitted  by  the  Spirit  of  Christ  that  it  flows  into  all 
the  little  channels  of  h's  daily  life.  Th^e,  alas,  are  dry.  And 
ytt  it  is  through  "truS;  he  chiefty  touches  others — through 
these  that  tho  currents  of  his  influence  overflow  into  the 
hinds  and  hearts  of  those  arontv]  him.  Therefore,  rea1 
CI  ristinn  as  he  may  be,  lie  does  very  little  gopd  toothers. 
Perhaps  he  does  harm  by  thus  misrepresenting  Christ  and 
himself  like  ?ise ;  for  he  seems  more  empty  than  he  really  h. 
Though  not  dry,  for  all  practical  Jesuits  he  is  so.  Others  are 
not  watered  jnd  blessed  by  his  influence,  Ah,'  Christian, 
/.•  ■■p  the  c  it  fern  f/iU. 


THE 

D  A I  It  Y  M  A  N '  S     I)  A  U  G  II T  E  R . 

AN    AUTHENTIC    NARRATIVE — ABRIDGED. 


BY  REV.  LEGH  RICHM  JN!" 


IT  is  a  delightful   employment   to    trace-and  disc 
the  operations  of  divine  grace,   as    they  are  manifested  in 

the  dispositions  and  lives  of  God's  real  children.  If. "is 
peculiarly  gratifying  to  observe  bow  frequently  am^ng 
the  poorer  classes  of  mankind,  the  sunshine  of  mercy 
beams  upon  the  heart,  and  bears  witness  to  the  imago  of 
Christ  which  the  Spirit  of  Q-od  has  impressed  thereupon. 
Among  such,  the  sincerity  and  Simplicity  of  the  Chris;  ian 
character  appear  unencumbered  by  those  fetters  to  sp'rit- 
uality  of  mind  and  conversation,'  which  too  often  pro\  e  a 
great  hinderance  to  those  who  live  in  the  higher  rani  s. 
•  Many  are  the  difficulties  which  riches,  polished  socio:  \ , 
worldly  importance,  and  high  connections  throw  m  thn 
way  of  religious  profession.  Happy  indeed  it  is,  (an  i- 
some  such  happy  instances  I  Know,)  whore  grace  hat  so 
strikingly  supported  its  conflict  with  natur;  1  pride,  Be  i- 
importance,  the  allurements  of  luxun  ,  ease,  and  worldly 
opinions,  that  the  noble  and  mighty  appea*  adorned  with 
genuine  poverty,  of  spirit,  :  elf-denial,  humble  mindedacss, 
and  deep  spirituality  o(  heart. 

But,  in  general,  if  we  want  to  see  religion  in  its  pure  t 
character,  we  must  look  for  it  among  the  po  lr  of  tins  wo^ld, 
who  are  rich  in  faith.     Lfow  often  is  the  poor   mail's  c  ■•■ 


tage  the  palace  of  God  I  Many  of  us  can  truly- declare,  that 
vie  have  there  learned  our  most  valuable  iessons  of  faith  and 
hope,  and  there  witnessed  the  moat  striking  demonstrations  of 
the  wisdom,  power,  the  goodness  of  God. 

The  character  which  the  present  narrative  is  deeigned  to 
i  utroduce  to  the  notice  of  my  readers,-  is  uiven  from  rtul  life 
aiidcircumstcihtc.  I  first  became  acquainted  with  the  Dairy- 
r\  man's  Daughter  by  the  reception  of  a  letter,  a  part  of  which 
]  transcribe  from  th    original,  now  before  me. 

"  Hbv.  Stn. — I  take  the  liberty  to  write  to  you.-  Tray  excuse 
ire,  for  I  have  never  spoken  to  you.      But  1  once  heard  you 

p  -each  at church.     1  believe  you  r.re  a  faithful  preach' 

«  f,  to  warn  sinners  to  tiee  from  the  wrath  that  will  b(  revealed 
:;  gainst  all  those  that  live  in  sin.  and  die  impenitent. 

"I  was  much  rejoiced  to  hear  of  those  marks  of  love  and 
<■  -Tec-lion  which  you  showed  to  that  poor  soldier  of  the  S  L». 
militia.  Surely  the  love  of  Christ  sent  you  to  that,  poor  man  ; 
may  that  love  ever  dwell  richly  in  you  by  faith.  May  it  con- 
strain  you  to  seek  the  wandering  souls  of  men,  with  the 
wt-vent  desire  to  spend  and    be  spent  for- his  glory. 

"Sir,"  be  fervent  in  prayer  with  God  for  the  conviction  and 
conversion  of  sinners.  He  has  promisod'to  answer  the  prayer 
ot'fai.h,  that  is  put  up  in  his  Son's  name.  'Ask  what  you  will, 
;•- id  it  shall  be  granted  yon.'  Through  faith  in  Christ  we  ro- 
i  -ice  in  hope  and  look  up  in  expectation  ol  that  time  drawing 
njar,  when  alj  shall  know  and  tear  Ihe  Lord,  and  when  a 
nation  shall   be  burn  in  a  day. 

"What"  a  happy  lime,  when  Christ's  kinpdom  shall  come! 
'J' ien  shall  'his  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  lxaven.' 
Men  shall  be  daily  fed  with  the  manna  of  his  love,  and  delight 
1'finselves  in  the  Lord  all  the  day  long. 

aSir.  I  began  to  write  this  on  Sunday,  being  detained  from 
-■attending  on  public  worship.  .  My  dear  and  only  sister,  living 

as  a  servant  with  Mrs. ,  was  so  ill  that  I  came  here  to 

a  tend  in  her  place,  and  on  her.     But   now  ohe  is  no  more. 

"She  expressed  a  desire  to  receive  the  Lord's  Supper,  and 
commemorate  his  precious  death  and  sufferings.  I  told  her,  as 
v.  ell  as  I  was  able,  what  it  was  to  receive  Christ  into  her 
froart;  but   as   her  weSkneBS"  of  body  increased,  she  did  not 


mention  it  ajiain.  She  seemed  quite  resigned  before  she  died. 
I  do  hope  she  has  gone  from  a  world  of  death  and  sin,  to  be 
with  God  for  evcT. 

"My  sister  expressed  a  wish  that  you  might  bury  her.  The 
minister  of  our  parish,  whi:  her  she  will  be  carried,  cannot  come. 
She  died  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  will  be  buried  on  Friday  - 
or  Saturday,  (whichever  is  most  convenient  to  you,)  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Please  to  send  an  answer  by  the 
bearer,  to  let  me  know  whether  you  can  comply  wi.h  this  re- 
quest. H  From  your  unworthy  servant, 

41  Kr.IZAF.ETII     W E." 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  simple  and  earnest  strain  of 
devotion  which  the  letter  brea'hed.  It  was  but  indifferently 
written  and  spelt ;  but  this  the  rather  tended  to  eudear  the 
hitherto  unknown  writer,  ns  it  seemed  characteristic  of  the 
uuion  of  humbleness  of  station  with  eminence  of  piety.  I  felt 
quite  thankful  that  I  was  favored  with  a  correspondent  of  this 
description  ;  the  more  so,  as  such  characters  were,  at  that  time, 
very  rare  in  th,e  neighborhood.  As  soon  as,  it  was  read,  I  in- 
quired who  was  the  bearer  of  it. 

M  He  is  waiting  at  tho  outside  of  the  gate,  sir,*'  was  the 
reply. 

1  went  out  to  speak  to  him:  and  saw  a  venerable  old  man, 
whose  long  hoary  hair  and  deeply  wrinkled  countc  ancc  com- 
manded more  than  cottilnon  respect  He  was  resting  his  arm 
and  head  upon  the  gate,  the  tears  were  streaming  down  his 
cheeks.     On  my  approach,   he  mnde  a  low  bow,  and  said, 

"Sir,  I  have  brought  you  a  letter  from  my  daughter;  but  I 
fear  you  will  think  us  very  bold  in  asking  you  to  take  so  much 
trouble." 

"  By  no  means.'  I  replied  ;  "I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  oblige 
you  and  any  of  your  family  in  this  matter." 

I  desired  him  to  come  into  the  houte  and  then  said, 

"  WLat  is  your  occupation  ?" 

•'Sir,  I    have  lived    most  of  my  days  in    a  little  cottage  at 

-,  six   miles  from    here.     I  have   rented  a  few  acres  of 

ground  and  kept  a  few  cows,  which,  in  addition  to  my  day 
labor,  has  been  my  "means  of  supporting  and  bringing  up  n>y 
family." 


"What  family  have  you'"1" 

"A  wife,  now  getting  very  aged  and  helpless;  two  sons  and 
one  daughter;  for  my  other  poor  dear  child  is  just  departed 
out  of  this  wicked  world." 

"  I  hope,  for  a  better." 

"I  hope  so  too ;  poor  thing,  she  did  not  use  to  take  to  such 
good  ways  as.  her  sister;  hut  I  do  believe  that  her  sister's 
manner  of  talking  with  her  before  she  died,  was  the  means  of 
saving  her  soul.  What  a  mercy  it  is  to  have  such  a  child. as 
mine  is  !  I  never  thought  about  my  own  soul  seriously  till 
she,  poor  girl,  begged  and  prayed  me  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to 
come.-' 

'•  How  old  are  you?" 

"  Turned  seventy,  and  my  wife  is  older  ;  we  are  petting  old 
and  almos'  past  our  labor;  but.  our  daughter  has  left  a  good 
place,  where  she  lived  in  service,  on  purpose  to  come  home 
and  take  care  of  us-and  our  little  dairy.  And  a  dear,  dutiful, 
affectionate  girl  she  is." 

"  Was  she  always  so  ?"' 

"  No,  sir  v  when  she  was  very  young,  she  was*  all  for  the 
world,  and  pleasure,  and  dress,  and  company.  Indeed  we 
were  ail  very  ignorant  and  thought,,  if  we  took  care  for  this 
life,  and  wronged  nobody,  we  should  be  sure  to  go  to  heaven 
at  last.  My  daughters  were  both  wilful,  and,  like  o  rselves, 
were  strangers  to  the  ways  of  God  and  the  word  of  his  grace. 
But  the  eldest  of  them  went    out-  to   service;  and  some  years 

ago  she  heard  a  sermon  preached  at 'church,  and  from 

that  time  she  became  quite  an  altered  creature.  She  began 
to  read  the  Bible,  and  became  quite  sober  and  steady.  The 
first  time  she  came  home  afterwards  to  see  us,  she  brought  us  a 
guinea  w.iich  she  had  saved  from  her  wages,  and  said,  as  we 
were  getting  old,  she  was  sure  we  should  want  help  ;  adding 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  spend  it  in  fine  clothes,  as  she  used  to 
do,  only  to  feed  pride  and  vanity.  She  would  rather  show 
gratitude  to  her  dear  father  and  mother;  and  this,  she  said, 
because  Christ  had  shown  such  mercy  to  her: 

il  We  wondered  to  hear  her  talk,  and  took  great  delight  in 
her  company,  for  her  temper  and  behavior  were  so  humble  atid 
kind,  she  seemed  so  desirous  to  do  us  good  both'  in  soul  and 
body,  and  was  so  different  from  what   we  had   ever  seen  he 


before,  that.  Careless  and  ignor.ant  as  we  bad  been,  :ve  began 
to  think  there  must  be  something  real  in  religion,  or  it  never 
could  alter  a  person  so  much  in  a  little  time. 

u  Her  younger  sister,  poor  soul,  used  to  laugh  and  ridicule 
her  at  that  time,  and  said  her  head  was  turned  with  her  new 
ways.  '  No,  sister,'  she  would  say,  '  not  my  head,  but  I  hope 
my  heart  is  turned  from  the  love  of -sin  to  the  love  of  God.  I 
wish  you  may  one  day  see,  as  I  do,  the  danger  and  vanity  of 
your  present  condition'' 

"  Her  poor  sister  tvould  reply,  '  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  of 
your  preaching  :  I  a:n  no  worse  than  other  people,  and  that  is 
enough  for  me.'  '  Well,"  sister,'  Elizabet'i  would  say,  'if  you^ 
will  not  bear  me,  you  cannot,  hinder 'me  from  praying  for  you, 
which  I  do  with  all'  my  heart.' 

"And  now,  sir,  I  believe  those  prayers  ar<S  answered.  For 
when  her  sister  was  taken  ill.  Elizabeth  Went  to  wait  in  her 
place  and  take  care  of  her.  She  said  a  great  deal  to  her  about 
her  soul ;  and  the  poor  girl  began  to  be  so  deeply  affected, 
and  sensible  of  her  past  sin,  and  so  rhankful  for  her  sister's 
kind  behavior,  that  it  gave  her  great  hopes  indeed  for  her  sake. 
When  my  wife  and  I  went  to  see  her  as  she  lay  sick,  she  told 
us  how  giie\ed  and  ashamed  she  was  of  her  past  life:  but  said, 
she  had  a  hope,  through  grace,  that  her  dear  sister's  Saviour 
would  be  her  Saviour  too;  for  she  saw  her  own  sinfulness,  felt 
her  own  helplessness,  and  only  wished  to  cast  hertelf  upon 
Christ  as  her  hope  and  salvation. 

"And  now,  sir,  she  is  gone,  and  I  hope  and  think  her  sister's 
prayeis  for  her  conversion  to  (iod  have  been  answered*  The 
Lord  grant  the  same,  for  her  poor  father  and  mother's  sake 
likewise." 

The  conversation  was  a  very  pleasing  commentary  upon  the 
letter  which  I  had  received,  and  made  me  anxious  both  to  com- 
ply with  the*  request,  and  to  become  acquainted  'with  the 
writer.  I  promised  the  good  old  Dairyman  I  would  attend  the 
funeral  on  Friday,  at  the  appointed  hour;  and  after  some- 
more  conversation  respecting  his  own  state  of  mind  under  the 
u  present  trial,  he  went  away. 

He  was  a  reverend  old  man;  his  furrowed  cheeks,  white 
locks,  weep'ng  eyes,  bent  shoulders,  and  feeble  gait,  were  char- 
acteristic of  the  aged  pilgrim;  and  as  he  slowly  departed,  sup- 


ported  by.  a  stick,  which  seemed  to  have  been  the  companion  of 
many  along  year,  a  train  of  reflections  occurred,  which  I  re- 
trace wiili  emotion  and  plea-ure. 

At  the  appointed  hour  1  arrived  at  the  church  ;  and  after  a 
little  while  was  summoned  to  meet,  at  the  church-yard  gate,  a 
•very  decent  funeral  procession.  The  aijed  parents,  the  elder 
brother  and  tfce  sister,  with  other  relatives,  formed  an  affecting 
group,  [was  struck  with  the  humble,  pious,  and  pleasing 
countenance  of  the  young  woman  from  whom  I  receiver!  the 
'letter;  it  bore  the  marks  of  .great  seriousness  without  affecta- 
tion, and  of  much  serenity  mingled  with  a  glow  of  devotion. 

A.  circumstance  occurred  during  the  burial  service,  which  I 
ithink  it  right  to  mention. 

A  man  of  the  vill  ge,  who  had  hitherto  been  of  a  very  care 
less  and  even  profligate  character,  erne  into  the  church 
through  mere  curiosity,  and  with  no  better  purpose  than  that 
of  a  vacant  gazing  at  the  ceremony,  lie  came  likewise  to  the 
grave;  and  during  the  buiial  serrice  his  mind  received  a 
deep,  serious  conviction  of  his  sin  and  danger,  through  some 
of  the  expressions  contained  therein.  It  was  an  impression 
that  never  wora  off,  but  gradually  ripened  into  the  most  satis- 
factory evidence  of  an  entire  change,  of  which  I  had  many  and 
long  continued  proofs.  He  always  referred  to  ih«  burial 
service,  and  to  some  particular  sentences  of  it.  as  the  clearly 
Hscer'ained  instrument  of  bringing  him,  through  grace,  to  the 
knowledge  of  the' truth. 

The  day  was  therefore  one  to  be  remembered.  Remem- 
bered let  it  be  by  those  who  love  to  hear  "  the  short  and  sim- 
ple ann; is  of  the  poor.'1 

_  Was  thjre  not  a  manifest  and  happy  connection  between  the 
circumstances  that  providentially  brought  the  serio  s  and  the 
careless  to  the  same  grave  on  Lhat  day  together  ?  How  much 
do  they  lose,  who  neglect  to  trace  the  leadings  of  Got]  in  provi- 
dence, as  links  in  the  chain  of  his  eternal  purpose  of  redemp- 
tion and  grace ! 

M  While  infide-ls  may  scoff,  let  us  adore." 

After  the  service  was  concluded,  I  had  a  short  conversation 
Tvith  the  good  old  cou-ple  and  their  daughter.'  Her  aspect  and 
address  were  highly  interesting.     I  promised  to  visit  their  cot- 


tape;  nnd  from  that  time  became  well  acquainted  wfth  them. 
Let  us  bless  the  God  of  the  poor,  and  pray  continually  that  the 
poor  may  become  rich  in  faith,  and  the  rich  be  made  poor  in 
spirit. 

A  sweet  solemnity  often  possesses  the  mirfd,  while  retracing- 
past  intercourse  wi'h  departed  friends.  How  much  is  this 
increased,  when  they  were  such  a-  lived  and  died  in  the  Lord  I 
The  remembrance  of  former  scenes  and  conversations  with 
those  who.  we  believe,  are  now  enjoying  the  uninterrupted 
happiness  of  a  better  world,  fills  the  heart  with  pleasing  sad- 
ness, and  animates  the  soul  with  the  hopeful  anticipation  of  a 
day  when  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shall  be  revealed  in  ihe  assemb- 
ling of  all  his  children  together,  never  more  u>  be  separated. 
Whether  they  were  rich  or  poor,  whilw  on  ear  h,  it  is  a  matter 
of  trifling  consequence  ;  the  valuable  part  of  their  character 
is,  that  they  are  now  kings  and  priests  unto  God  Tn  the  num 
ber  of  departed  believers,  with  whom  I  once  loved  to  con- 
verse on  the  grace  and  glory  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  was  tbe 
Dairyman's  Daughter.  I  propose  now  to  give  some  further 
account  of  her,  and  hope  it.  may  be  useful  to  every  reader. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  of  the  younger  sister,  I  rode 
over  to  visit  the  family  in  their  own  cottage.  The  principal 
part  of  the  road  lay  through  retired,  narrow  lanes,  beautifully 
overarched  with  groves  of  nut  and  other  trees,  which  screened 
the  traveller  from  the  raya  of  .the  sun,  and  afforded  many 
interesting  objects  for  admiration,  in  the  beautiful  flowers, 
shrubs,  and  young  tre»-s,  which  grew  upon  the  high  banks  on 
each  side  of  the  road.  Many  grotesque  rocks,  with  little 
streams  of  water  occasionally  breaking  out  of  .them,  varied 
the  recluse  scenery,  and  produced  a  new,  romantic,  and  pleas- 
ing effect- 
Here  and  there,  the  more  distant  and  rich  prospect  beyond 
appeared  through  gaps  and  hollow  places  on  the  road*side. 
Lofty  hills,  with  navy  signal-posts,  obelisks,  and  light-houses 
on  their  summits,  appeared  at  these  intervals;  rich  cornfields 
were  also  visible  through  some  of  the  open  places;  and  now 
and  then, 'when  the  road  ascended  any  hill,  the  sea,  with  ships 
at  various  distances,  opened  delightfully  upon  me.  But,  for 
th*  ^ost  part,  shady  seclusion,  nnd  beauties  of  a  more  minute- 


10 

and  confined  nature,  gave  a  character   to  the  journey,  and  in- 
vited contemplation. 

What  do  nut  they  lose,  who  are  Strangers  to  serious  medita- 
tion on  the  wonders  and  beauties  of  created  nature  1  How 
gloriously  ihe  God  of  creation  shines  in  his  works  !  Not  a 
tree,  <-r  leaf,  or  flower,;  n^t  a  bird,  or  insect,  but  proclaims  in 
glowing  language,  "God  made  me/'  - 

As  I  approached  the  village  where  the  good  old  Dairyman 
dwelt,  I  observed  him  in  a  little  field,  driving  a  lew  cows  be- 
fore him  towards  a  yard  and  hovel  which  adjoined  his  cottage. 
I  advanced  very  near  him,  without  his  observing  me,  for  his 
sight  was  dim.  On  my  calling  out  to  hwn,  he  started  at  the  , 
sound  of  my^voice,  but  with  much  gladness  of  countenance 
welcomed  me,  saying,  "  Bless  your  heart,  sir,  I  am  very  glad 
you  are  come;  we  have  looked  for  you  every  day  this  week." 

The  cottage-dour  opened,  and  the  daughter  came  out,  fol- 
lowed by  her  aged  and  infirm  Another.  The  sight  of  me 
naturally  brought  to  recollection  the  grave  at  which  we  had 
before  met.  Tears  of  affection  mingled  with  the  smile  of  satis- 
faction with  which  I  was  received  by  these  worthy  cottagers. 
I  dismounted,  and  was  conducted  through  a  very  neat  little 
garden,  part  of  which  was  shaded  by  two  large,  overspreading 
elm-trees,  to  the  house.  Decency  and  cleanliness  were  mani- 
fest within  and   without. 

This,  thought  I,  is  a  fit  residence  for  piety,  peace  and  con- 
tentment. May  i  learn  a  fresh  lesson  in-  each,  through  the 
blessing  of  God  on  this  visit 

"Sir,"  said  the  daughter,  "  we  are  not  worthy  that  you 
should  come  under  our  roof.  We  take  it  very  kind  that  you 
should  come  so  far  to  see  us." 

"My  Master,"  I  replied,  "  came  a  great  deal  farther  to  visit 
us,  poor 'sinners.  He  left  the  bosom  of  his  Father,  laid  aside 
his  glory,  and  came  down  to  this  lower  world  on  a  visit  of 
mercy  and  love  ;  and  ought  not  we,  if  we  profess  to  follow 
him,  to  bear  each  other's  infirmities,  and  go  about  doing  good 
as  he  did  ?" 

The  old  man  now  came  in,  and  joined  his  wife  and  daughter 
in  giving  me  a  cordial  welcome.  Our  conversation  soon  turned, 
to  the  great  loss  they  had  sustained;  and  the  pious  and  sensi- 
ble disposition  of  the  daughter  was  peculiarly  manifested,  as 


11 

well  in  what  she  said  to  her  parents,  as  in  what  she  said  to  me. 
I  was  struck  with  the  good  sense  and  agreeable  manner 
which  accompanied  her  expressions  of  devotedness  to  God, 
and  love  to  Christ  for  the  great  mercies  which  he  had  bestowed 
upon  her.  She  seemed  anxious  to  improve  the  opportunity 
of  my  visit  to  the  best  purpose,  for  her  own  and  her  parents' 
sake;  yet  there  was  nothing  of  unbecoming  forwardness,  no 
self-consequence  or  conceitedness,  in  her  behavior.  She  uni- 
ted the  firmness  and  earnestness  of  the  Christian,  with  the 
modesty  of  the  i'ema'e  and  the  dntifulness  of  the  daughter.  It 
was  impossib'e  to  be  in  her  company,  and  not  observe  how 
truly  her  temper  and  conversation  adorned  the  evangelical 
principles  which  she  professed. 

I  soon  discovered  how  eager  arid*  how  successful  also  she 
had  been  in  her  endeavors  to  bring  her  father  and  mother  to 
the  knowledge  and  experience  of  the  truth.  This  is  a  lovely 
circumstanoe  in  the  character  of  a  young  Christian.  J  fit, 
hath  pleased  God,  in  the  free  dispensation  of  his  mercy  to  call 
the  child  by  his  grace,  while  the  parents  remain  still  in  igno- 
rance and  sin,  how  great  is  the  duty  of  that  child  to  do  what  is 
possible  for  the  conversion  of  those  to  whom  it  owes  its  birih  1 
llappy  is  it  when  the  ties  of  grace  sanctify  those  of  nature  ! 

This  aged  couple  evidently  looked  upon  and  spoke  of  their 
daughier  as  their  teacher  and  admonisher  in  divine  things, 
while  they  received  from  her  every  token  of  filial  submission 
and  obedience,  testified  by  continual  endeavors  to  serve  and 
assist  them  to  the  utmost,  in  the  little  concerns  of  the 
household. 

The  religion  of  this  young  woman  was  of  a  highly  spiritual 
character,  and  of  no  ordinary  attainment.  Her 'views  of  the 
divine,  plan  in  saving  the  sinner,  we*e  clear  and  scriptural. 
She  spoke  much  of  the  joys  and*orrows  which,  in  the  course 
of  her  religious  progress,  she  had  experienced  ;  but  she  was 
fully  sensible  that  there  is  far  more  in  real  religion  than  mere 
occasinal  transition  from  one  frame  of  mind  and  spirit  to 
another.  She  beJieved  that  the  experimental  acquaintance  of 
the  heart,  with  God,  principally  consisted  in  so  living  upon 
Christ  by  faith,  as  to  seek  to  live  like  him  by  love.  She  knew 
that  the  love  of  God  towards  the  sinner,  and  the  path  ot  duty, 
prescribed  to  the  sinner,  are  both  of  an  unchangeable  nature. 


ia  a  believing  dependence  on  the  one,  and  an  affectionate 
W;dk  in  the  other,  she  sought  and  found  ''the  peace  of  God 
which  passeth  all*  understanding  ;"  '•  for  so  he  giveth  his  be- 
loved rest."  ' 

She  had  read  but  few  books  besides  her  Bible  ;  but  these  few 
were  excellent  in  their  kind,  and  she  spoke  of  their  contents  as 
one  who  knew  their  value.  In  addition  tn  a  Bible  and  Com- 
mon Praver-Book,  "  Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress,"  "  Ro- 
manics Life,  Walk,  and  Triumph  of  Faith,"  ■'  Bunyan's  Pil- 
grim/' '-Alleine's  Alarm,''  "  Baxter's  Saints'  Everlasting 
Rest,"  a  hymn-book,  and  a  few  Tracts,  composed   her  library. 

I  observed*  in  her  eotintonance  a  pale  and  delicate  look, 
which  I  afterwards  found  to  be  a  presage  of  consumption  ;  and 
the  idea  then  occurred  to  me  that  she  would  not  live  many 
years.  In  fact,  it  pleased  God  to  take  her  hence  about  a  year 
and  a  half  after  I  first  saw  her. 

Time  passed  on  swifily  with  this  litt'e  interesting  family; 
and  after  having  partaken  of  some  plain  and  wholesome  re* 
freshment,  and  enjoyed  a  few  hours'  conversation  with  them, 
1  found  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  return  homewards. 

i  "  I  thank  you,  sfr,"  said  the  daughter,  "  for  your  Christen 
kindness  to  me  and  my  friends.  I  believe  the  blessing  of  -he 
Lord  has  attended  your  visit,  and.  I  hope  I  have  experienced  it 
to  be  so.  My  de»r  father  and  mother  will,  I  am  sure,  remem- 
ber it.  and  I  rejoice  in  an  opportunity,  which  we  have  never 
before  enjoyed,  of  seeing  a  serious  minister  under  this  roof. 
My  Saviour  has  been  abundantly  good  to  me  in  plucking  me 
1  as  a  brand  from  the  burning,'  and  showing  me  the  way  of  life 
ar.d  pea.  e  ;  and  I  hope  it  is  my. heart's  dedre- todive  to  his 
glory.  But  I  long  to  see  these  dear  friends  enjoy  the  comlort 
and  power  of  religion  als'*" 

"  1  think  it  evident,"  I  replied,"  "that  the  promise  is  fnl- 
filled  in  their  case  :  '  It  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at  evening  time 
it  shall  be  light.'  " 

V  I  believe  it,"  she  said,  "and  praise  God  for  the  blessed 
hopp." 

"Thank  hin\  too  that  you  have  been  the  happy  instrument 
of  bringing  them   to  tha  light." 

"I  do  sir,  yet  when  I  think  of  my  own  unworthiness  and 
insufficiency,  I  rejoice  with  trembling." 


13 

"Sir/'  said  the  good  old  man,  "  I  nin  sine  ih>:  Lord  Will 
reward  you  for  this  kindness.  Pray  for  us,  that,  om  as  v.-p, 
are,  and  sinners  as  we  Have  been,  yet  lie  would  have  inert  y 
upon  us  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Poor  Betsey  Rfrives  hard  fVr 
our  sakes,  both  in  body  and  soul;  she  works  hard  all  day  Ui 
save  us  trouble,  and  1  bar  has  not  strength  to  support  all  ehte 
dues:  and  then  she  talks  to  us,  and  reads  to  us,  and  prays  for 
us,  that  w4  may  be  saved  from  the'wrah  to  come.  Indeed, 
sir.  she's  a  rare  child  to  us." 

4i  Peace  be  to  you   and  all  that  belong  to  you." 
"Amen,  and  thank   you,   dear  sir,"  was  echoed  from   each 
tongue. 

Thus  we  parted  for  that  time.  My  returning  meditations 
were  sweet,  and,  I  hope,  profitable.  Many  other  visita  were 
afterwards  made  by  me  to  this  peaceful  cottage,  and  I  til  ways 
found  increasing  reason  to  thank  God  for  tbe  iniercourEO  I 
enjoyed.  .  , 

I  soon  perceived  that  tbe  health  of  the  daughter  was  rapidly 
on  the  decline.  The  pale  wasting  consumption,  which  is  ih<; 
Lord's  instrument  for  removing  so  many  thousands  every  y>  nr 
from  the  l#nd  of  the  living,  made  ha6ty  strides  on  her  constitu- 
tion. The  hollow  eye,  the  distressing  cough,  and  the  often  too 
flattering  red  on  the  cheek,  foretold  the  approach  of  death. 

I  have  often  thought  wliat  a  field  for  usefulness  and  affec- 
tionate attention  on  the  part  of  ministers  and  Christian  friend*. 
is  opened  by  the  freqfient  attacks  and  lingering  progress  «>f 
consumptive  illness.  How  many  such  precious  opportunisms 
are  daily  lost,  where  Providence  seems  in  to  marked  a  Wf.v  to 
afford  time  and  space  for  Serin  us  ami  godly  instruction  1  Ut 
how  many  may  it  be  said,  "  The  way  of  peace  have  they  not 
known  :"  for  not  one  friend 'came  nigh,  to  warn  then  to  "  llco 
from  the  wra'h  to  come." 

Bi«  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  was  happily  made  acquainted 
with  the  things  w^ich  belonged  to  her  everlasting  peace,  be- 
fore the  present  disease  had  taker;  root  in  her  constitution.  In 
my  visit  'o  her,  1  might  be  said  rather  to  receive  information 
.  than  to  impart  it.  tier  mind  was  abundantly  stored  with 
divine  irutUs,   a  id  her   conversation  was  truly  edifying.     The 


-  U:     . 

recollection  ol  it  still   produces  a   thank'ful-  sensation   in    my 
heart. 

I  one  clay  received  a  short  note  to  the  following  effect : 

Bear  Sir,— I  should  be  very  glad,  if  your  convenience  will 
allow,  that  you  would  come  and  see  a  p'oQf  unworthy  sinner: 
my  hour-glass  is  nearly  run  ou<,  but  I  hope  I  can  see  Christ 
to  be  precious  to  my  soul.  Your  conversation  has  often  been 
blessed  tome,  and  I  now  feel  the  need  of  it  more  than  ever. 
?>Iv  father  and  mother  send  their  duty  to  you, 

From  your  obedient  and  unworthy  servant, 

Elizabeth  W . 

I  <  beyed  the  summons  that  same  afternoon.  On  my  arrival 
at  the  JDairvman's  cottage,  his  wife  opened  the  door.  The 
tears  sffeamed  down  her  eheek,  as  she  silently  shook  her  head. 
Her  heart  was  full.  She  tried-to  speak;  but  could  not.  I  took 
her  by  the  hand  and  said, 

u  My  good  friend,  all  is  right,  and  as  the  Lord  of  wisdom  and 
mercy  directs." 

liOh!  my  Betsey,  my  dear  girl,  is  so  bad,  sir  ,  what  shall  I 
do  without  her ?•— I  thought  I  should  have  gone  fifst  to. the 
gravp,  but *' 

"  lint  the  Lord  sees  good,  that,  before  you  die  yourself,  yo,u 
should  behold  your  child  sate  home  to  glory.  Is  there  no 
mercy  in  this?" 

4'  Oh  !  dear  sir,  T  am  very  old,  and  very  weak  ;  and  she  is  a 
dear  child,  the  s'air'and  prop  of  a  poor  old  creature  a3  I  am." 

A*  I  advanced,  I  saw  Elizabeth  sitting  by  the  fireside,  sup- 
ported .in  an  arm-chair  by  pillows,  with  every  mark  of  rapid 
dec-line  and  approaching  death,  -khe  appeared  to  me  within 
three  or  four  wceka  at  the  farlhesf  from  her  end.  A  tweet 
smile  of  friendly  complacency  enlightened  her  p;de  coun'e- 
nance,  as  she  said, 

'tThis  is  very  kind  indeed,  sir,  to  come  so  soon  after  I  sent 
to  you.  You  find  me  daily  wasting  away,  ami  I  cannot  have 
long  to  continue  here.  My  flesh  and-my  heart  fail,  but  God  is 
the.  strength  of  my  weak  heart,  and  I  trust  will  be  my  portion 
for  ever." 

The  conversation  which  follows  was  occasionally  interrupted 


by  her  cough  and  want  of  breaih.  Her  tone  of  voice  waa 
clear,  though  feeble;  her  manner  solemn  and  collected;  ana 
her  eyej  though  more  dim  than  formerly,  by  no  means  wanting 
in  liveliness  as  she  spoke.  I  had  fcequeutlv  admired  the 
Hiiperior  language  in  which  she  expressed  her  idea*,  as  well  n* 
the  scriptural  consistency  with  which  she  communicated  lur 
thoughts.  She  had  a  good  natural  understanding;  and  gracf, 
as  is  generally  the  case,  had  much  improved  it.  On  the  pros- 
eat  occasion  I  could  not  help  thinking  she  was  peculiarly 
favored.  The  whale  strength  of  grace  and  nature  seemed  to 
be  in  full  exercise. 

After  taking  my  seat  between  the  daughter  and  the  mother, 
(the  latter  fixing  her  fond  eye*  upon  her  child  with  great 
anxiety  while  we  were  conversing,)  I  said   to  Elizabeth, — 

"  I  hope  you  enjoy  a  sense  of  the  divine  presence,  and  ban 
rest  all  upon  him  who  ha*  '  been  with  fliee,'  and  has  kept 
'thee  in  all  plaeeR  whither  thou  hast  gone,"  and  will  bring 
thee  into  'the  land  of  pure  delights,  where  saints  immortal 
reign.-' '' 

"  Sir,  I  think  I  can.  My  mind  has  lately  been  sometimes 
cloudeB,  but  I  believe  it  has  been  partly  owing  to  the  great 
weakness  and  s.nfferi ng  of  my  bodily  frame,  and  partly  to  the 
envy  of  my  spiritual  enemy,  who  wants  to  persuade  me  that 
Christ  has  no  love  for  me,  and  that  I  have 'been  a  self- 
deceiver." 

"And  do  you  give  way  to  his  suggestions?  Can  you  doubt, 
amidst  such  numerous  tokens  of  past  and  present  mercy?" 

V  No,  eir,  I  mostly  am  enabled  to  preserve  a  ofcar  evidence 
of  his  love.  I  do  not  wish  to  add  to  my  other  sins  that  ( t 
denying  his  manifest  goodness  ro  my  soul.  I  would  acknowl- 
edge it  to  his  praise  and  glory," 

u  What  is  your'  present  view  of  the  state  in  which  you  were 
before  he  called  you  by  his  grace?" 

"Sir,  T  was  a  proud,  thoughtless  girl;  fond  o."  dress  and 
finerv  ;  I  loved  the  world  an,d  the  ihings  that  are  in  the 
world  ;  1  lived  in  service  among  wordly  peopl1,  and  never  had 
the  happiness  of  being  in  a  family  where  worship  wa3  regarded, 
and  the  souls  of  the  servants  cared  for,  either  by  master  or 
mistress.  I  went  once  on  a  Sunday  to  chuivh,  more  to  see  mid 
be  seen,  than  to  pray,  or  hear  the  word  of  God.     T    thought  I 


iris  quite  good  enough  to  be  saved,  and  disliked  and  often 
laughed  at  religious  pe.op'e  I  was  in  great 'darkness  ;  I  knew 
nothing  of  lUe  way  ot  salvation;  I  never  prayed,  nor  was  sen- 
sible of  the  awful  danger  of  a  prayerU>ss  state.  1  wished  to 
in  intain  the  eharacter  <>4  a  good  servant,  and wri#  much  i-'ifted 
up  whenever  I  met,  with  applajwet  I  was  tolerably  moral  and 
decent  in  my  conduct,  trom  motive*  of  earn  d  and  wordly 
policy;  but  I  was  a  stranger  to  God  ^nd  Chris'  ;  I  neglected 
lay  soul  '7  and  had  I  died  in  such  a  state,  hell  must,  and  would 
justly,  have  been  my  portion.'' 

"  How  long  is  it,  since  you  heard  the  sermon-  wliian  yoa  hope, 
through  God's  blessing,  effected  yoar  conversion  ?'' 

'  About  five  years  ago." 

'•  How  was  it  brought  about?" 

''  ft  was  reported    that  a  Mr ,  who  was.  detained    by 

contrary  winds  f'r  un  embarking  on    board  ship,  as  chaplain,  to 

a>  distant  }  a>t  vi  ihe*world,  was  to  piea/h  »t —  church. 

Many  adv.sed  me  not  to  go.  for  fear  he  should  turn  my  head; 
as  they  said  hje  held  sfrange  notions.  Hut,  curiosity,  and  an 
o  >;>ortun  ty  of  appearing  in  a  new  gO»vn,  which  I  was  very 
projd  of,  induced  me  to  ask  leave  to  go.  Indeed,  sir,  I  bad  no 
better  motives  than  vanity  a»d  curiosity.  Yet  thus*  it  pleased 
the  Lord  to  order  it  for  his  own  jjiory. 

"  I  accordingly  went  to  church,  and  saw  a  great  crowd  of 
people  col  etted  together.  T  often  think  of  the  contrary  states 
<if  my  mind  during  the  former  and  latter  part  of  ihe  ser-vntn. 
Fur  a  while,  reg  nil  ss  of  the  worship  of  (iod,  I  looked  around 
mc,  and  w  is  anxbus  to  attract  notice  myself  My  dre.-s.  ljke 
that  of  too  main  gay.  vain,  oid  silly  gir's,  was  much  above 
my  station,  and  very  different  from  that  which  becomes  a  hum- 
ble s'nner,  who  has  a  modest  sense  of  propriety  and  decency. 
The  state  of  n;y  mind  was  visible  enough  from  the  foolish 
finery  of  my  apparel. 

'At  leng  h  the  clergyman  gave  out  his  text:  '  Be  ye  clothed 
with  humility.'  He  drew  a  comparison  between  the  clothing 
of  the  body  and  that  of  the  soul.  At  a  very  eaily  part  of  hia 
discourse,  I  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  passion  for  fine  dress, 
ing  and  apparel  ;  but  when  he  came  to  describe  the  garment 
ot  salvation  with  which  a  christian  is  clothed,  J  felt  a  powerful 
discj/ery  of  the  nakedness  of  my  own  soul.     1  saw  that  I  had 


17 

neither  the  humility  mentioned  in  the  text,  nor  any  part  of  the 
true  Christian  , character.  1  looked  at  my  .gay  dress,  and 
blushed for  shame  cm  account  of  my  pride.  I  looked  at  the 
minister,  and  he  seemed  to  be  as  a  messenger  sent  from 
heaven  to  open  ■  my  eyes.  I  looked  at  the  congregation  and 
wondered  whether  any  ©«•  else  f*»'t  as  I  did.  I  looked  at  my 
heart,  and  it  appeared  full  of  iniquity.  I  trembled  as  he 
spoke,  and  yet  1  felt  a  great  drawing  of"  heart  to  the  words  he 
uttered.  .  . 

•'He  opened  the  riches  of  divine  grace  in  God's  method  ot 
saving  the  sinner.  T  was  astonished  >t  what  I  had  been  doing 
all  the  days  of-  my  life,  lie  described  the  meek,  lowly,  and 
humble  example  of  Christ  ;  I  felt  pro u-d,  lofty,  vain  and  self- 
consequential.  He  represented  Christ  as  'Wisdom  ;'  I  felt  my 
ignorance.  He  held  him  forth  as  '  Righteousness  ;'  I  was  con- 
vinced of  my  own  guilt,  He  proved  him  to  be  '  Sanctilication: 
I  saw  my  corruption.  He  proclaims  1  him  as  !  Redemption  ;'  I 
felt  my  slavery  to  sin,  an4  mv  cwptivity  to  Satan.  He  con- 
cluded with  an  animated  address  to  sinners,  in  which  he  ex- 
horted them  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come,  to  cast  off  the  love 
of  outward  ornaments,  to  put  on  Chiist,  a»d  -be  clothed  with 
true  humility. 

"From  that  hour  I  never  lo«t  sight  of  the  value  of  my  soul, 
and  the  danger  of  a  sinful  state.  I  inwardly  blessed  God  for 
il.  sermon,  although  my  njnd'wastn  a  state  of  great  eon- 
fusion.      'w 

"The  preachei  had  brought  forward  the  ruling  passion  of 
*nv  heart,  which  was  pridj  in  outward  dress;  and  by  the  grace 
of  God  it  was  onde  insirumcn'al  to  the  awakening  of  m\  soul. 

Happy,  sir,  would  it  be,  if  m  iny  a  poor  girl,  like  myself, 
were  turned  from  the  love  uf  outward  adorning  and  putting  on 
of  fine  apparel,  to  seek  that  which  is  not  corruptible,  even  tta 
ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spit  t,  which  is  in  the  sight  of 
God  of  great  price. 

"  The  greater  part  of  the  cortgregnlion,  unused  to  such  faith- 
ful and  scriptural  sermons,  disliked  and  complained  of  the 
severity  of  the  preacher;  while  a  few,  as  I  afterwards  found, 
like  myself,  were  deeply  affected,  and  earnestly  wishc  .  t  near 
him  again.     But  he  preached  there  no  more. 

'"From   that. time  I  Was  led.    through  a  course  of  private 


18 

prayer,  reading  and  meditation,  to  6ee  my  lost  estate  as  a  sin- 
ner^ and 1-  the  great  mercy  of  God,  'hrough  Jesus  Christ,  in 
raisin?  sinful  deist  and  ashes  to  a  share  in  the  glorious  happw. 
ness  of  heaven.  And  oh,  sir,  what  a  {Saviour  have  I  found!" 
He  is  more  lhan  I  could  ask  or  desire.  In  his  fulness  I  have 
found  all  that  my  poverty  cou'd  need;  in  his  bosom  I  have 
found  a  resting-place  from  all  sin  and  sorrow  ;  in  his  word  I 
have  found  strength  against  doubt  and  unbelief." 

"  Were  you  not  soon  convinced,"  said  1,  "  that  your  salva- 
tion must  be  an  act  of  entire  grace  on  the  part  of  God,  wholly 
independent  of  your  own   previous  works  or  deserving* ?" 

11  Dear  sir,  what  were  my  works  before  I  heard  thai  sermon, 
but  evil,  carnal,  selfish,  and  ungodly?  The  thoughts  of  my 
heart,  from  my  youth  upward,  were  ouly  evil,  and  that  con- 
tinually.  And  §  my  deserving,  what  were  they,  but  the  de- 
servings  of  a  fallen,  depraved,  careless  soul,  thaf  regards  neither 
law  nor  Gospel?  Yc«,  sir,  I  immediately  saw' that,  if  ever  I 
were  saved,  it  must  be  by  the  free  mercy  of  God,  and  that  the 
whole  praise  and  honor  of  the  work  would  be  bis.  from  first  to 
last." 

u  What  change  did  you  perceive  in  yourself  with  respect  to 
the  world?" 

"It  appeared  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  1  found  it 
necessary  to  my  peace  of  mind  to  'cWme  out  from  among  them 
and  be  separate.'  I  gave  myself  to  prayer;  and  ■many  a 
precious  hour  of  secret  delight  I  enjoyed  in  communion  with 
God.  Often  f  mourned  over  my  sins,  and  sometimes  had  a 
great  conflict  through  unbelief,  fear,  temptation  to  return  back 
a;>ain  lo  my  old  way*,  and  a  variety  of  difficulties  which  lay 
in  my  way.  But  he  who  loved  me  with  an  everlasting  love, 
ifrew  me  by  his  loving  k wines*,  showed  me  his  loving  kind- 
ness showed  me  the  way  of  peace,  gradually  strengthened  mo 
in  my  resolutions  of  leading  a  new  life,  and  taught  me  that, 
whi-e  without  him  I  could  do  nothing,  1  yet  might  do  all 
things  through  his  strength. " 

"  Did  you  not  find  many  difficulties  ig  your  situation,  owing 
to  your  change  of  principle  and  practice?" 

"Yes  sir,  every  day  of  my  life.  I  was  laughed  at  by  some, 
scolded  at  by  others,  scorned  by  enemies,  and  pitied  by  friends , 


[9 

I  was  callrtl  hypocrite,  saint,  false  deceiver,  unci  many  more 
names,  which  were  mean^o  render  me  hateful  in  the  sight  of 
the  world.  But  I  es'eerneu  the  reproach  of  t he  cross  on  honor. 
I  forgave  and  prayed  for  my  persecutors,  and  remembered  how 
very  lately  I  had  acted  the  same  part  towa:ds  other*  myself. 
I  thought  also  thai  Christ  endured  the  contradiction  of  sin- 
ners; and,  as  the  diseiple  is  not  above  his  Master,  I  was  glad 
to  be  in  any  way  conformed  to  his  Bufferings." 

''  Did  you  not  then  feel  for  your  relatives  at  borne  ?" 

'*  Yes,  that  i  did,  indeed,  sir;  ihey  *ere  never  out  of  my 
thoughts.  I  prayed  continually  for  them,  and  had  n  longing 
desire  to  do  them  good.  In  pferrtieular,  I  felt  for  my  father  and 
mother,  as  they  were  getting  into  years,  and  were  very  igno- 
rant and  dark  in  matters  of  religion." 

"Ay/'  interrupted.her  mother,  Bobbin?,  "  ignorant  and  da»k, 
sintu)  and  miserable  we  were,  till  this  dear  Betsey — this  dear 
Betsey — this  dear  child,  sir,  brought  Cliri>t  Jesus  home  to  her 
poor  father  and  mother's  hon^e  " 

"No,  dearest  mother,  say  rather.  Jesus  Christ  brought  your 
poor  daughter  home  to  tell  you  what  I  c  had  done  for  her  soul, 
and  I  hope  to  do  the  same  for  yours." 

At  this  moment  the  Dairyman  came  in  with  two  pails  of 
milk  hanging  from  the  ydki  on  his  shoulders.  He  had  stood 
behind  the  half-opened  door  for  a  few  minutes,  and  heard  the 
last  sentences  spoken  by  his  wife  and  dan -bier."-  * 
•  "Blessing  and  mercy  opon  her,"  said  he,  "it  is  very  true; 
she  would  leave  a  good  place,  of  service  on  purpo.se  to  live 
with  us,. that  she  might  help  us  both  in  soul  and  body.  Sir, 
don't  she  look  very  ill  ?  I  think,  sir,  we  shan't  have  her  here 
long." 

"  Leave  that  to  the  Lord,"  said  Elizabeth.  "AH  our  times 
are  in  his  hand,  and  happy  is  it  thai  they  are.  I  am  willing  to 
go-;  are  not  you  willing,  my  father,  to  part  with  me  into  his 
hands,  who  gave  mo  to  you  at  first  ?" 

"Ask  me  any  question  in  the  wor'd  but  that,"  said  the  weep- 
ing father. 

"I  know  said  she,  ';you  wish  me  to  be  happy." 

"I  do,  I  do,"  answered  he;  "  let  the  Lord  do  with  you  an4 
us  n9  best  pleases  him," 


I  then  asked  her,  an  what  her  present  connotations  chiefly 
deppnrlcd,  In  the  prospect  of  anpro,u£,bij)g  death. 

"  Entirely, 'sir,  on  my  view  i>t  Gunst.  When  I  look  at  my- 
self, mari3r  sins,  infirmities,  and  imperfections,  cloud  *,he  image 
of  Christ  which  I  want  lo  see  in  my  own  heart.  Hut  when  I 
look  at  the  Saviour  himself,  he  is  altogether  lovely;  there  is 
no!  one  spot  in  his  coni:tenanee,  nor  one  cloud  over  all  his  per- 
fect 'ons 

"I  think  of  his  earning;  in  the  flesh,  and  it  reconciles  me  to 
the  sufferings  of  the  body;  f«r  he  h.d  litem  as  well  as  I.  I 
think  of  his  temptations  and  helieve  thnt  he  i.s  able  to  succor 
when  I  am  tempted  Then  I  think  of  his  crottg  and  learn  to 
bear  my  own.  I  teflect  on  his  death,  and  long  to  die  unto  sin, 
so  that  it  may  no  longer  have  dominion  over  me.  I  some- 
times think  on  his  resurrection,  and  trust,  tjiat  he  has  given  roe 
a  part  in  it,  for  J  feel  that  my  affeetions  are  set  upon  things 
above.  Chiefly  I  take  comfort  in  thinking  of  him  as  the  right 
hand  of  the  Father,  pleading  my  cause,  and  rendering  accepta- 
ble even  my  fee I>1  e  prayers,  both  for  myself  and,  as  I  hope,  for 
my  dear  friends. 

'*  Thes»*  are  the  views  which,  through  mercy,  I  have  of  my 
Saviour's  goodness;  and  they  have  made  me  wish  and  strive  in 
my  poor  way  to  serve  him,  to  give  myself  up  to  him,  and  to  labor 
to  do  my  duty  in  that  stute  of  life  in'o  which  it  has  pleased 
him   to  call  me. 

"A  thousand  limes  I  should   have  fallen   «nd    fainted,  if  he  . 
hrtd  not  upheld  me.     I  feel  that   I  am    nothing  without    him. 
lie  is  all  in  all. 

'•  Just  ko  far  as  I  can  cast  my  care  upon  him,  I  find  strength  to 
do  his  w  II.  May  he  give  me  grace  to  trust  him  to  the  la«t 
moment!  I  dunet  bar  death,  because  1  believe  he  has  taken 
away  its  sting.  And 'eh'!  what  happiness,  beyond  1  Tell  me, 
sir,  whether  you  think  I  am  tight.  I  hope  I  am  under  no 
delusion.  I  d  ire  not  look  for  my  hope,  at  any  thing  short  of 
the  entire  follies*  of  Cnrist  When  I  ask  my  own  heart  a 
question,  I  am  nfrai  I  to  trust  it,  f  >r  it  is  treacherous,  and  has 
often  deceived  me.  But  "when  I  ask  Christ,  he  answers  me 
with  promises  that  strengthen  and  refresh  me.  and  leave  mo  no 
room  to  doubt  his  p'  wer  and  will  to*ave,  I  am  in  his  hands, 
and  w.m'd  remain   there;    I    do   brieve    that   he   will    nevnr 

ea-ve  nor  forsake  me,  but  will  pevlect  the  thing  that  concern 


1 1  i  .-> 


He  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for  me,  and'I  believo  that 
bis  girls  and  calling  are  without  repentance.  In  this  hope  I 
live,  :n  this  I  wish  re  die." 

I  looked  around  toe Vi  she  was  speiking,  and  thought 
tl  Surely  this  is  none  other  than  the  house  of  God,  and  the 
gate  of  hpaven."  Everything  appeared  neat,  cl>  anly,  and  in- 
teresting. The  afternoon  had  been  rather  overcast  with  dark 
clouds,  but  just  now  the  settfng  sun  shone  brightly  and  rather 
suddenly  into*  the  room.  It  was  reflected  from  three  or  four 
rows  of  bright  pewter  plates  and  white  earthenware  arranged 
on  shelves  against  the  wall;  it  also  gave  brilliancy  to  a  few 
prints  of  sacred  subjecs  that,  hung  there  also,  and  served  fer 
monitors  of  the  birth,  baptism,  crucifixion,  and  resurrection 
of  Christ.  A  large  map  of  Jerusalem,  and  a  hieroglyphic  of 
"  the  old  and  new  man.  '  completed  the  decorations  on  that 
side  of  the  room.  Clean  as  was  the  white-washed.wall,  it  was 
not  cleaner  than  the  rest  of  the  place  and  its  furniture. 
Seldom  had  the  sun  enlighted  a  house  where  order  and  gene**' 
ral  neatness  (those  sure  attendants  of  pious  and  dtcenl  pov- 
erty) were  more  conspicuous. 

This  gleam  of  setting  sunshine  was  emblematical  of  the 
bright  and  serene  close  of  this  yo  ing  Christian's  departing 
season.  One  ray  happened  to  be  reflected  trom  n  little  look' 
ing-?lass  upon  the  face  of  the  young  woman.  Amidst  her 
pabid  and  decaying  features  there  appeared  a  calm  resignation, 
triumphant  confidence,  unaffected  humility,  and  tender 
anxiety,  which  fully  tiecdared  the  feelings  of  her  heart. 

"  Some  further  affectionate  conversation,  and  a  short 
prayer,  closed   this  interview. 

As  I  rode  home  by  departing  daylight,  a  solemn  tranquility 
reigned  throughout  the  scene  The  gentle  lowing  of  cattle, 
the  bleating  of  sheep  just  penned  in  their  folds,  the  humming 
of  the  insects  of  the  night,  the  distant  murmurs  of  the  sea, 
the  last  notes  of  the  birds  of  day,  and  the  first  warblihgs  of 
the  nightingale,  broke  upon  the  ear.  and  served  rather  to  in- 
crease than  lessen  the  peaceful  spn  nity  of  the  evening,  and 
i's  corresponding  effects  on  my  own  mind.  It  invited  and 
cherished  just  such  meditations  as  my  visit  had  already  in- 
spired. Natural  scenery,  when  viewed  in  a  Christian  mirror, 
frequently  affords  very  beautiful  illustrations  of  divine  truth. 


'12 

We  are  highly  favored,  when  we  can  enjoy  them,  and  at  the 
same  time  draw  near  to  God  in  them. 

Soon  after  this,  I  received  a  hasty  summons,  to  inform  me 
that  my  young  friend  was  dying.  It  was  brought  by  a  ai  ldier, 
whose  countenance  bespoke  seriousness,  good  sense,  and 
piety. 

''I    am  sent,  sir,    by  the  father   and    mother  of  Elizabeth 

W ,    at   her  own    particular  request,  to  say  how  much 

they  all  wish  to  Fee  you.  She  is  going  home,  sir,  very  fast 
indeed." 

"  Have  you  known  her  long,"  I  replied. 

"About  a  month,  sir;  I  love  to. visit  ihe  sick,  and  hearing 
of  her  case  from  a  serious  person-  who  lives  close  by  our  camp, 
I  we  it  to  see  her.  I  bless  God  that  ever  I  did  go.  Her  con- 
versation has  been  very  profitable  to  me." 

"  1  rejoice.  %&\d  1,  "to  see  in  you,  as  I  trust,  a  brother 
soldier.  Though  we  differ  in  our  outward  regimentals.  I  hope 
we  serve  under  the  same  spiritual  Captain.  I  will  go  with 
you.'" 

My  horse  was  soon  ready.  My  military  companion  walked 
by  my  side,  and  gratified  me  with  very  sensible  and  pics  con- 
versation. He  related  some  remarkable  testimonies  of  the 
excellent  disposition  of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter,  as  they 
appeared  from  some  recent  intercourse  which  he  had  had 
with  her. 

"She  is  a  bright  diamond,  sir,"  said  the  soldier,  ''and  will 
soon  shine  br'gbter  th.m  any  diamond  upon  earth  " 

Conversation  beguiled  the  distance,  and  shortened  the  ap- 
parent time  of  our  journey,  till  we  were  nearly  arrived  at  the 
Dairyman's  cottage. 

As  we  approached  it,  we  became  silent.  Thoughts  of 
death,  eternity,  and  salvation,  inspired  by  the  sight  of  a  house 
wh-re  a  dying  believer  lav,  fi  led  my  own  mind,  and,  I  doubt 
not,  that  ot  my  companion  also. 

No  living  object  yet  appeared,,  except  Ihe  Dairyman's  dog, 
keeping  a  kind  of  mute  wn'ch  at  the  door;  fur  he  did  not,  as 
formerly,  bark  at  :ny  approach.  He  seemed  to  partake  so  far 
of  the  feelings  appropriate  to  the  circumstances  of  ihe  family, 
as  not  to  wish  to  give  a  hasty  or  painful  alarm.  He 
came  forward  to  the  liule  wicket-gate,  then   looked    back  at 


2S 

the  house-door,  as  it  conscious  there  was  sorrow  within.  It 
was  as  if  he  wanted  %>  say,  "  Tread  softly  over  the  Ihreshold, 
as  you  enter  Hie  house  of  mourning  ;  for  my  master's  heart 
is  full  of  grief.'' 

A  solemn  serenity  appeared  to  surround  the  whole  place.  It 
w,as  only  interrupted  by  the  breeze  passing  through  the  large 
elm- trees  whicfc  stood  near  the  house,  which  my  imagination 
indulged  itself  in  thinking  were  plaintive  sighs  of  sorrow.  I 
gently  opened  i he  door;  no  one  appeared,  and  all  was  still 
silent.'  The  soldier  followed ;  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"  They  are  come,"  said  a  voice  whifth  I  knew  to  be  the 
father's;  ,4  they  are  come." 

He  appeared  at  the  top;  I  gave  him  my  hand,'  and  said 
nothing.  -On  entering  the  room  above,  I  sa*  the  aged  mother 
and  her  son  supporting  the  much-loved  daughter  and  sister; 
the  son's  wife  sat  weeping  in  a  window-seat,  with  a  child  on 
her  lap;  two  or  three  persons  attended  in  the  room  to  dis- 
charge any  office  which  friendship  or  necessity  might  require. 
I  sat  down  by  the  bedside.  The  mother  could  not  weep, 
but  now  and  then  sighed  deeply,  as  *he  alternately  looked  at 
Elizabeth  and  at  me.  The  big  tear  rolled  down  the  brother's 
cheek,  and  testified  an  affectionate  regard.  The  good  old  man 
stood  at  tiie  foot  of  the  bed.  leaning  upon  the  post,  and  una- 
ble to  take  his  eyes  from  off  toe  ciiild  irom  whom  he  was  so 
soon  to  part. 

Elizabeth's  eyes  were  closed,  and  as  yet  she  perceived  me 
not.  But  over  her  face,  though  pale,  sunk,  and  hollow,  the 
peace  of  God,  which  pa^eth  all  understanding,  had  casta 
triumphant  calm. 

The  soldier,  after  a  short  pause,  silently  reached  out  his 
Bible  towards  me,  pointing  with  his  finger  at  1  Cor.  15: 
55-57.  I  than  broke  silence  "by  reading  the  passage,  ".0  death 
where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory?  The 
sting  of  death  is  sin,  and  the  streng  h  of  sin  is  the  law,  '  But 
thanks  be  to  Gud,  which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

At  ihe  sound  of  these  words  her  eyes  opened,  and  some- 
thing like  a  ray  of  divine  light  beamed  on  her  countenance  as 
she  said,  "Victory,  victory  J  through  our   Lord  Jesus  Christ." 


24 

She  relapsed  again,  taking  no  further  notice  of  any  one 
present. 

'•God  be  praised  for  the  triumph  of  faith,"  I  said. 

"Amen,"  replied  the  soldier. 

The  Dairyman's  uplif  ed  eye  showed  that  the  Amen  was  in 
bis  heart,  though  his  tongue  (ailed  t    utter  it. 

A  short  struggling  for  breath,  took  place  in  the  dying  young 
woman,  which  was  soon  over,  and  then  I  said  to  her — 

"  My  dear  friend,  do  you  not  feel  that  you    are  supported  ?" 

"The  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me,"  she  replied.     * 

"Are  not  his  promises  now  very  precious  to  you  ?" 

"  They  are  all  yea  and  amen  in  Christ  Jesus." 

"Are  you  mnch  ir?  bodily  pain?" 

"  So  little  that  I  almost* forget  it!" 

"How  good  the  Lord  is!" 

"And  how  unworthy  am  II" 

"  You  are  going  to  see  him  as  he  is." 

11 1  think 1  hope 1  believe  that  J  am."  H 

She  again  fell  into  a  short  slumber. 

Looking  at  her  mother,  I  said,  "  What  a  mercy  to  have  a 
child  so  near  heaven  as  yours  is  !" 

"And  what  a  mercy,"  she  replied  in  broken  accents,  "  it  her 
poor  old  morher. might  but  follow  her  there!  But,  sir,*it  is  so 
hard  to  part — " 

"  I  hope  through-grace,  by  faith,  you  will  soon  meet,  to  part 
no  more  ;  it  will  be  but  a  little  white." 

''Sir,"  said  the  Dairyman.  "  that  thought  supports  me,  and 
the  Lord's  goodness   makes  me  more  reconciled    than  1  was." 

"  Father mother ,"  said   the  reviving  daughter,  "  he 

is  good  to  me trust  him,  praise  him  evermore." 

l<  Sir,"  added  she  in  a  faint  voice,   "  I  want  to  thank  you  for 

your  kindness  to  me 1  want   to  ask  a  favor you  buried 

my  sister will  you  do  the  same  for  me?" 

"All  shall  be  as  you  wish,  if  God  permit,"  I  replied. 

"Thank  you,    sir,  thank   you 1  have   another  favor   to 

ask When  I  am  gone,   remember  my  father  and    mother. 

They  are  old,  but   I    hope  the  good  work  is  begun    in    their 

souls My  prayers  are  heard Pray  come  sind    see  them 

« 1   cannot    speak    much,   but  I  want  to  speak,   for  their 

sakes Sir,  remember  them." 


The  a^d  parent-  now  sighed  ami  sobbed  aloud,  uttering 
broken  sentences,  and.  gained  some  relief  by  such  an  re- 
pression of  their  feelings 

At  length  I  said  to  Elizabeth,  "Do  you  experience  any 
doubts  or  temptations  on  the  subject  of   your  eternal   safety?" 

"No, -sir;  the  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me,  and  gives 
me  peace." 

"  What  are  your  views  of  the  dark  valley  of  death,  now  that 
you  are  passing  through  it?" 

"  It  is  not  dark." 

".Why  so?" 

"My  Lord  is  there,  and    he  is  my  light  and  my  salvation." 

"•Have  you  any  fears  of  moie  bodily  suffering?  ' 

"The  Lord  deals  so  gently  with  me,  I  can  trust  him." 

Something'  of  a  convulsion  came  on.  When  it  was  past, 
she  said  again  and  again, 

'•The  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me.  L  >rd,  I  am  thine, 
save  me — Blessed  Jesus — Precious  Saviour — His  blood 
e'eanseth  from  all  sin — Who  shall  separate?1— His  name  is- 
Wonderful  —Thanks  be  to  God— He  giveth  us  the  victory — I, 
e^  en  I,  am  savecU-  0  irace,  mercy,  and  wonder — Lord,  re- • 
ceive  ray  spirit. 

"  Denr  sir —dear  father,  mother,  friends,  I  am  going — but' 
all-is  well,  well,  well " 

She  relapsed  again — We  knelt  down  to  prayer — The  Lord1 
was  in  the  midst  of  us,  and  blessed  us. 

-  She  did  not  again  revive  while  I  remained,  nor  even  speak* 
any  more  words,  which  could  be  und  rstood.  She  slumbered' 
for  about  ten  hours,  and^at  last  sweetly  fell  asleep  in  the  arms' 
of  the  Lord,  who  had  dealt  sageutly  -wit'i  her  ,  # 

I  left  the  house  an  hour  after  she  had  ceased  to  speak.  I" 
pressed  her  hand  as  I  was  taking  leave,  and  said,  "Christ  Is'' 
the  resurrection  and   the  life." 

'vhe  gently  returned  the  pressure,  but  could  neither  open  her ' 
eyes  nor  utter  a  reply.  I  never  had  witnessed  a  scene  so  im- 
pressive as  this  before.  It  completely  filled  my  imagination 
as  I  returned  home 

"  Farewell,"  thought  I,  "dear  friend,  till  the  morning  of  air 
eternal  dav  shall  renew  our  personal  intercourse.  Thou  wast  s 
brand  plucked  from  the  burning,  that  thou  raighteat  become* 


2K 

star  shining  in  the  firmament  of  glory.  F  have  seen  thv  light, 
and  thy  good  works,  and  I  will  therefore  glorify  our  Father 
which  is  in  heaven.  I  have  seen  in  thy  example,  what  it  is  to 
be  a  sinner  freely  saved  by  grace.  I  have  learned  front  thee, 
as  in  a  living  lyirror,  who  it  is,  that  begins,  continues,  and 
ends  the  work  of  faith  and  love.  Jesus  is  a'l  in  all;  he  will 
and  shall  be  glorified.  He  .won  the  crovn  and*  alone  deserves 
to  wear  it.  May  no  one  attempt  to  rob  him  of  his  glory;  he 
saves,  and  saves  to  the  uttermost.  Farewell,  dear  sister  in  ' 
the  Lord.  Thy  fie»h  and  thy  heart  may  fail  ;  but  God  is  the 
strength  of  thy  heart,  and  shall  be  thy  portion  forever." 

I  was  soon  called  to  attend  the  funeral  of  my  friend,  who 
breathed  her  last  shortly  after  my  visit.  Many  pleasing  yet 
melancholy  thoughts  were  connected  with  the  fulfilment  of 
this  task.  I  retraced  the  numerous  and  important  conversa- 
tions which  I  had  held  with  her.  But  these  could  now  no 
longer  be  held  on  earth.  I  reflected  on  the  interesting  and 
improving  nature  of  Christian  friendships,  whether  formed  in 
palaces  or  in  cottages;  and  felt  thankful  that  1  had  so  long 
enjoyed-  that  privilege  with  the  subject  of  this  memorial.  I 
..indulged  a  sigh,  for  a  moment,  on  thinking  that  I  could  no 
longer  hear  lhe  great  truths  of  Christianity  uttered  by  one 
who  had  drunk  so  deep  of  the  waters  of  life,  But  the  rising 
murmur  was -checked  by  the  animating  thought,  "She  is  gone 
to  eternal  resf — could  I  wish  to  bring  her  back  to  this  vale  of 
tears r  v 

As  I  travelled  onward  to  the  house  where  lay  her  remains  in 
solemn  preparation  for  the  grave,  the  tirst  sound  of  a  tolling 
bell  struck  my  ear.  Tt  proceeded  from  a  village  church  in  lhe 
valley  directly  beneath  the  ridge  of  a  high  hill,  over  which  I 
had  taken  my  way — it  was  Elizabeth's  funeral  knell.  It  was 
a  solemn  sound,  but  it  seemed  to  proclaim  at  once  the  blessed- 
ness of  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,  and  the  necessity  of  the 
living  pondering  these  things,  and  laying  them  to  heart. 

On  entering  the  cottage,  I  found  that  several  Christian 
friends,  from  different  parts  of  the  neighborhood,  had  as- 
sembled together  to  show  their  last  tribute  of  esteem  and  re- 
gard to  lhe  memory  of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter. 

I  was  'requested  to  go  into  the  chamber  where  the  relatives 


27 

and  a  few  other  friends  were   gone  to  take   a  last  look  at   the 

remains  ot  Elizabeth. 

*    If  there    be   a  inoment#when  Christ   and    salvation,   death, 

judgment,    heaven,    and  hell,  appear    more  than    ever  to  he 

momentous   subjects   of  medit  ttion,    it   is.  that  which   brings 

us  to  the  side  ot  a  coffin  containing   the  body  of  a  departed 

believer. 

Elizibeth's  features  were  altered,  but  much  of  her  likeness 
remained.  Her'father  and  mother  sit  at  the  head,  her  brother 
»t  the  foot  of  the  collin,  manifesting  their  deep  and  unfeigned 
sorrow.  The  weakness  and  infirmity  of  old  age  added  a 
character  to  the  parent's  grief,  which  called  for  much  tender- 
ness and  compassiou. 

A  remarkably  decent-looking  woman,  who  had  the  manage- 
ment of  the  few  simple,  though  solemn  ceremonies  which  the 
case  required,  advanced  towards  me,  saying, 

"Sir,  this  is  rather  a  sight  of  joy  than  of  sorrow.  Our  dear 
friend  Elizabeth  finds  it  to  be  so.  I  have  no  doubt,  She  is  be- 
yond all  sorrow.     Do  you  not  think  she  is,  sir?1' 

"After  what  I  have  known  and  seen,  and  heard,"  I  replied, 
I  feel  the  fullest  assurance  that,  while  her  body  remains  hero, 
her  soul  is  with  her  Saviour  in  Paradise.  She  loved  him  here, 
and  there  she  enjoys  the  pleasure-;  which  are  at  his  right  hand 
for  evermore." 

"  Mercy,  mercy  upon  a  poor  old  creature  almost  broken 
down  wit.h  age  and  grief,  what  shall  I  do  ?  Betsey's  j:one — 
my  daughter's  dead.  Oh  I  my  child,  I  shall  never  see  thee 
morel  God  be  merciful-  to  ine  a  sinner!"  sobbed-  out  the 
poor  mother. 

l' That  last  prayer,  my  dear  good  woman,"  said  "I,  "will 
bring  you  together  again.  It  is  a  cry  that  has;  brought 
thousands  to  glory.  It  brought  your  daughter  thither,  and  I 
hope  it  will  bring  you  there  likewise.  He  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out  any  that  come  to  him." 

il  My  dear,"  said  the  Dairyman,  breaking  the  long  silence 
he  had  maintained,  "let  us  trust  God  with  our  child,  and  let 
us  trust  him  with  our  ownselves.  The  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  has  taken  away  ,'  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord!  We 
are  old,  and  can  have  but  a  little  farther  to  iravel  in  our 
jouruoy,  and  then" — he  could  say  no' more. 


28 

The  soldier  before  mentioned  reached  a  Bible  into  my  hand, 
and  said,  '•  Peihaps,  sir,  you  would  not  object  to  reading  a 
chapter  before  we  go  to  the  churchy" 

I  did  so  ;  it  was  the  fourteenth  of  the  book  of  Job.  A  sweet, 
tranquility  prevailed  while  I  read  it.  Each  minute"  that  was 
spent  in  this  funeral-chamber,  seemed  to  be  valuable.  I  made 
a  few  observations  on  the  chapter.,  and  connected  them  with 
the  case  of  our  departed  sister. 

"  I  am  but  a  poor  soldier,"  snid  our  military  friend,  "and 
have  nothing  of  this  world's  goods  beyond  my  daily  sub- 
sistence; but  I  would  not  exchange  my  hope  of  salvation  ki 
the  next  world,  for  all  that  thi.s. world  could  bestow  without 
it.  What  is  wealth  without  grace  ?  Blessed  be  God,  as  [ 
march  about  from  one  quarter  to  another,  I  still  find  the  Lord 
wherever  I  go  ;  and  thanks  be  to  his  holy  name,  he  is  here  to- 
day in  the  midst  of  this  company  of  the  living  and  the  de;id. 
I  feel  that  it  is  good  to  be  here." 

Some  other  persons  present  began  to  take  a  part  in  the  con- 
versation, in  the  course  of  which  the  life  and  experience  of  the 
Dairyman's  Daughter  were  brought  forward  in  a  very  inter- 
esting manner ;  each  friend  had  something  to  relate  in  testi- 
mony of  her  gracious  disposition.  One  distant  relative,  a 
young  woman  under  twenty,  who  had  hitherto  been  a  very  light 
and  trifling  character,  appeared  to  be  remarkably  impressed  by 
the  conversation  of  that  day ;  and  I  have  since  had  ground  to 
believe  that  divine  prace  then  began  to  influence  her  in  the 
choice  of  that  better  part,   which  shall  not  be  taken  from  her. 

What  a  contrast  d  ies  such  a  scene  as  this  exhibit,  when 
compared  with  the  dull,  formal  unedifung.  and  often  inde- 
cent manner  in  which  funeral  parlies  assemble  iu  the  house  of 
death  1 

But  thfl  time  for  departure  to  the  church  was  now  at  hand. 
1  went  to  take  my  last  look  at  the  deceased.  There  whs  much 
written  on  her  countenance:  she  had  evidently  departed  with 
a  smile.  It  still  remaned,  and  spoke  the  tranquillity  of  her 
departing  son};  According  to  the  custom  of  the  place  she 
was  decorated  with  leaves  and  flowers  in  the  coffin  ;  these  in- 
dead  -were  fading  flowers,  but  they  reminded  me  of  that  Para- 


•     29 

dise  whose  flowers  are  immortal,   and  where  h.r   never-dying 
soul  is  at  rest. 

I  remembered  the.last  v  ords  which  I  had  heard  her  speak, 
and  was  instantly  struck  with  the  happy  ihough%  !hat  u  death 
was  indeed  swallowed  up  in  victory*' 

As  I  slowly  retired.  I  said  inwardly,  "  Peace,  my  honored 
sister,  to  thy  memory,  and  to  vty  soul,  till  we  meet  in  a  better 
world.'' 

In  a  little  time  the  procession  formed  ;  it  was  rendered  the 
more  interesting  by  the  consideration  of  so  many  that* followed 
the  coflin  being  persons  of  truly  serious  and  spiritual 
character. 

Alter  we  had  advanced  about  a  hundred  yards,  my  medita- 
tion was  unexpectedly  and  most  agreeably  interrupted  by  the 
friends,  who  followed  the  family,  beginning  to  sing  a  funeral 
Psalm.  Nothing  coiil  i  be  more  sweet  or  solemn.  The  well- 
known  eO'ect  of  the  open  air  in  softening  and  blending  the 
sounds  of  music  was  here  peculiarly  felt-  The  road  through 
which  we  passed  was  beautiful  and  romantic:  it  lay  at  the 
foot  of  a  hijl,  which  occasionally  re-echoed  the  voices  of  the 
singers,  and  seemed  to  gtve  faint,  replies  to  the  notes  of  the 
mourners.  T  ie  funeral  kne  1  was  distinctly  heard  from  the 
church  tower,  and  greatly  increased  the  effect  which  this 
simple  and  becoming  service  produced. 

I  cannot  describe  the  state  of  my  own  mind  as  peculi  .rly 
connected  with  the  solemn  singing.  1  never  witnessed  a 
similar  instance  before  or  since.  I  was  reminded  of  elder 
times  and  ancient  piety.  I  wfshed  the  practice  more  fre- 
quent. It  seems  well  calculated  to  excite  and  cherish  devo 
tion  and  religious  affections. 

We  at  length  arrived  at  t:<e  church.  The  service  w.  s  heard 
with  deep  and  affectionate  att  ntion.'  When  we  <ame  to  the 
grave,  the  hymn  which  Elizabeth  had  selected  wa-  sung.  All 
was  devout,  simple;  decent,  a  i mating.  We  committed  our 
dear  friend's  body  to  the  grave,  in  full  hope  of  a  joyful  resur- 
rection from  the  dead. 

Thus  was  the  vail  of  separation  drawn  for  a  season.  She  is 
departed  and  no  more  SOeih     But  she  will  be  seen  at  the  ri^ht 


30 

hand  of  her  Redeemer  at  the  last  day ;  and  will  again  appear 
to  his  glory,  ft  mir.iele  of  grace  and  a  monument  of  mercy.     • 

My  reader,  ricli  or  poor,  shall  you  and  I  appear  there  like- 
wise? Are  we  <:clothed  with  humility."  and  arrayed  in  the 
wedding-garment  of  a  Redeemer's  righteousness?  Are  we 
turned  from  idols  to  serve  the  living  God  ?  Are  we  sensible  of 
our  own  emptiness,  flying  to  a  saviour's  fulness  to  obtain 
grace  and  strength?  Do  we  live  in  him,  and  on  him,  and -by 
him,  and  with  him'?  Is  he  our  all  in  all?  Are  we  'Most  and 
found  ;"    "  dead,  and  alive  again  ?" 

My  poor  reader,  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  was  a  poor  girl, 
and  the  child  of  a  poor  man.  Herein  thou  reseinblest  her: 
but  dost,  thon  rese*tnble  her,  as  she  resembled  Christ.  ?  Art 
thou  made  rich  by  faith?  llast  thou  a  crown  laid  up  for  thee? 
Is  thine  heart  et  upon  heavenly  riches?  If  not,  read  this 
story  once  more',  an'd  then  pray  earnestly  for  like .  precious 
faith.  If,  through  grace,  thou  dost  love  and  serve  the  Re- 
deemer tliat  saved  t  e  Dairyman's  Daughter,  grace,  peace,  and 
mercy  b&  with  thee.  The  lines  are  fallen  unto  thee  ic  pleasant 
places:  thou  hast  a  go  >dly  heritage,  Press  forward  .  in  duty, 
and  wait  upon  the  Lord,  possessing  thy  soul  in  holy  patience. 
Thou  bast  just  been  with  me  to  the  g/ave  of  a  departed  be- 
liever. Now  •  go  thy  way  till  the  end  be;  for  thou  shalt  rest, 
and  stand  in  thy  lot  at  the  end  of  the  days."     Dan.  12:   13. 


Note. — The  mother  died  about  six  months  after  her  daughter, 
and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe  tfat  God  was  merciful  to  her,' 
and  took  her  to  himself.  May  every  conveited  child  thus  labor 
and  pray  for  the  salvation  of  their  unconverted  parents.  The 
■  father  continued  for  some  time  after  her,  and  adorned  his  old 
age  with  a  walk  and  conversation"  becoming  the  Gospel.  I  can- 
not doubt  that  the  daughter  and  both  her  parents  are  now  met 
together  in  (i  the  land  of  pure  delights,  where  saints  immortal 
reign." 


THE  PATHWAYS  OF  THE  HOLY  LAND, 

The  pathways  of  thy  land  are  little  changed 

Since  thou  werfc  there  ; 
The  busy  world  through  other  ways  has  ranged 

And  left  these  bare. 

The  rocky  path  still  climbs  the  glowing  steep 

Of  Olivet;       * 
Though  rains  of  two  millenniums  wear  it  deep, 

Men  tread  it  yet. 

Still  to  the  garden  o'er  the  brook  it  lead:;, 

Quiet  and  low; 
Before  his  sheep  the  shepherd  on  it  treads — • 

His  voice  they  know.     . 

The  wild  fig  throws  broad  shadows  o'er  it  stii*,- 

As  once  o'er  thee  ; 
Peasants»go  home  at  evening  up  t.hfit  bill 

To  Bethany. 

And  as,  when  gazing,  thou  did'st  weep  oVr  them, 

From  height  to  height 
Tho  white  roofs  of  discrowned  Jerusalem 

Burst  on  our  sight. 

These  ways  were  strewn  with  garments  once,  and  palm 

Which  we  tread  thus; 
Here  through  thy  triumph  on  thou  pn3sedst,  calm, 

On  to  thy  cross. 


T be  waves  have  washed  fresh  funds  upon  the  shore 

Of  Galilee; 
But  chigellcd  on  the  hill-sides  ever  more 

Thy  paths  we  see. 

•Man  has  not  changed  them  in,  that  sr.unb'ring  land. 

Nor  time  effaced; 
Where  thy  feet  trod  to  bless,  we  still  may  stand.: 

All  can  be  traced. 

Vet  we  have,  traces  of  thy  footsteps  far 

Truer  than  these ; 
Where'er  the  poor  and  tried  and  suffering  are, 

Thy  step3  faith  sees, 

'Nor  with  fond,  gfed  regrets  thy  steps  we  trace  ; 

Thou  art  not  dead  : 
*Our  path  is  onward,  till  we  see  thy  face 

And  hear  thy  tread. 

And  now,  wherever  meet  thy  lowliest  -band 

In  praise  and  prayer, 
There  is  thy  presence*  there  tky  Holy  Land; 

Thou,  thou  art  there. 


